Tag Archives: spammers

Critical Mass

While reading through my spam the other night (there was nothing on the TV) I found this comment from Sammie, at learnhowtolapdance.org:

“Remarkable material, but it could be slightly more descriptive. Not whining, but I hate going from blog to blog to blog just to learn a couple of answers; why can’t 1 site simply have all of them at once! I’m sorry, I’m rambling and exhausted….I tend to get cranky and I’m taking it out on your site. My bad.”


Lap-dancing is an exhausting profession.

At first glance it’s hard to see why, its very job title implies it that involves a great deal of sitting down, but the dancing itself is only part of a lap-dancer’s day. During the afternoons Sammie had to teach classes (essentially wriggling on a chair the way you do when settling into your sofa) and in the mornings she had to send out emails trying to find a constant stream of new clients, since most people would turn up for just two lessons and reckon that they pretty well had it sussed.

The usual targets were bloggers, who Sammie’s boss said were sad, lonely individuals who needed to meet real people, or at least to fantasise about doing so. The boss reckoned that such souls would succumb to any form of flattery, so Sammie’s job was to find people who seemed pathetic and then butter them up, though this is apparently more useful in pole-dancing.

Sammie was from Greece, having fled the country when its economy fell apart, and unfortunately had only broken English, so she told blogger after blogger that “you work is very appreciated for me”, “doing well keep posting such stuffs” or “your work contains truly information”.

But Sammie had dreams. Like all other lap-dancers (as well as strippers, exotic dancers, and girls who lie on car-bonnets at motor shows) she was only doing it to pay her way through college (she came from Greece, she had a thirst for knowledge). She wanted to study ancient civilisations, and was very interested when she heard about the predicted 2012 end of the world. She Googled it and then studied a suggested blog. It told her only that a giant meteor was on the way. She read another, which said we were going to be swallowed by a black hole. She read another, which warned of the imminent arrival of the Four Postmen of the Apocalypse (Junkmail, Postcard, Readers-Digest and Bill).

Then she turned to a blog which came up with the far less likely idea that the Mayan doing the calendar had simply met a girl.

Sammie was exhausted and cranky, and had had enough. She had started, almost on auto-pilot, by saying that the blog contained remarkable material, but then thought more carefully about the post. What kind of paper had the Mayan used? Did he put in Friday 13ths, or Friday 12As? What did Ithixa and he get up to in bed that night?

She read what she had written and found that she had suggested that the blogger write something more descriptive. Originally she was horrified at having insulted a potential client, then thought “to with it hell” and launched into a scathing attack on blogging in general.

She thought about the poor lonely blogger and the impact that this would have upon what he laughingly called his self-esteem and typed the words “my bad”.

Then she sent it anyway.

The story ends happily for Sammie. The following day she discovered Wikipedia and got all of her information in the one article, even if that information was that we were about to vanish up the bum of a giant space-weevil.

And the blogger? Well, he was a bit startled and hurt, but he decided to comfort himself by reading the rest of his spam, confident that he would be told that he was “most topic knowingful” and “a bacon of light among such article”.

Which is how he read the comment of Lista De Email (I didn’t make that up, I couldn’t), who asked (I didn’t make this up either): “could you improve your way of writing?”.

Things are bad when even spammers think you write crap.

A Space Oddity

An email tells me that I have won 700,000 GBP. It seems that my email address has been randomly selected for this cash prize “and other consolation prizes in the Irish lottery” (I have to be honest, if I really have won seven hundred grand then I won’t actually need much consoling).

The email is from Doctor (nice touch, that) Roonwyn James, who sounds like a Prop Forward from the Welsh rugby team. He is apparently a Web-eMail Information Manager, a job title which could mean absolutely anything, but which I think means that he can tell you what e-mail is.

Interestingly he does not ask for details of a bank account into which he can pour this largesse. Instead, listed and numbered as below, he asks for

  1. Name;
  2. Address;
  3. Age;
  4. Sex (when I say he asks for sex, that doesn’t mean what it sounds like, or if it does he can keep his seven hundred grand);
  5. Phone;
  6. Country: Mr. River Campbel,

No, I don’t know what that last bit means either.

Now I know that all of us have received emails like this before, so I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m bothering mentioning it. Well, the reason is the email address it came from:


It all becomes clear now. NASA serves no function anymore. The space shuttle program is over. Their astronauts have to hitch lifts on Russian ships to get to the International Space Station, which in any case is just the world’s highest revolving restaurant. Their satellites are dropping like flies, if there are flies that are the size of a bus and weigh six tons.

There is talk of Space Tourism, but they’re not even going to bother. They know if they offer did to fly you to the moon Ryanair would just come along and charge half the money to fly you there, or a least to a small meteor just two thousand miles from it.

Cape Canaveral/Kennedy/Canaveral is deserted now apart from David and his assistant Roonwyn, who have been given the job of disposing of everything, including the cash in the NASA bank accounts, by giving them to random people all over the world.

So if you get an email from either of them offering you moonrock, or a spacesuit, or one of those capsules that simulates G-Force (it’d make a great rocking-chair for your front porch) please do accept whatever they offer.

They’re stuck there until they get rid of it all.

Blind Leading The Blind

From one of my wonderful spammers:

My coder is trying to persuade me to move to .net from PHP. I have always disliked the idea because of the expenses. But he’s tryiong none the less. I’ve been using Movable-type on a number of websites for about a year and am nervous about switching to another platform. I have heard very good things about blogengine.net. Is there a way I can transfer all my wordpress content into it? Any help would be really appreciated!

Do you reckon, perchance, that he has come to the wrong blog?

Turned You Into Someone New

I have two spam comments this week from one of my most frequent and entertaining spammers, businessdailyreview.com. The first is from a guy whose email address reveals his name to be Drew. His comment, on a post about Windows7 taking four hours to run updates, was “I know my fellow Boomers are not going to like this but I see no other way”. As a fellow Boomer could I perhaps suggest the invention of Windows8.

The second is from a girl called Miranda, commenting on my recent post about the cocktail class I went to:

……..Get a Job as a Cocktail Waitress ……………….Working as a cocktail waitress can be fun and you have potential to earn great tips in addition to your hourly pay. Many cocktail serving are available at any given time but employers look for certain qualities which give you the edge over other applicants…………….

It is quite a clever spam as it entices you to look up their website to read on, if only to discover what edge-giving qualities they refer to (I’m guessing they have very little to do with a Classical Education and a great deal to do with the length of your legs).

Since gender precludes me from being a waitress of any sort, cocktail or not, then at first glance it appears that Miranda is barking up the wrong blog.

But maybe not. Perhaps the people at businessdailyreview.com have discovered a business opportunity and have held an emergency staff meeting….

“Our clients need cocktail waitresses,” snaps the boss, “Lots of them. Where will we get them?”

“We could try beautifulpeople.com.,” suggests Windows-loving Drew.

“Ridiculous. You couldn‘t put them anywhere with a mirrored ball in the ceiling, they‘d get a crick in the neck looking up at themselves.”

“How about cocktailwaitresses.com ?” says Drew.

“No such place, I’ve looked,” snaps the boss (there really isn’t, I’ve just checked, this blog is nothing if not thoroughly researched).

There is silence for a while, then quiet, timid secretary Miranda (who, if she takes off her glasses, opens her pony-tail and flicks out her hair, suddenly becomes stunning, I’ve seen this happen in ads) shyly says “I know where you can find a lot of really hot women” (sorry, I’ve just made it sound as if she cruises gay bars, that’s not what I meant).

“Where?” snaps her boss (don’t blame me, that’s the way he talks).

“Tinman’s blog,” says Miranda.

“Huh, Tinman sounds like a bloke to me,” snorts Drew, jealously determined to find some rain to dump on Miranda’s parade.

“I don’t mean him,” says Miranda, “I mean his readers.”

“Quick,” snaps the boss, “to the internet!”

They all gather around a computer, dredge up Tinman’s blog, skip through the posts and go straight to the comments.

“You’re right, Miranda, they do seem like a very sassy bunch of girls,” snaps the boss. “See if you can sneak a comment onto this Tinman’s blog. And by the way, you look very fetching with your hair like that.”

So there you are, ladies. If working as a waitress in a cocktail bar has been your life’s ambition ever since you first heard the Human League song then you know where to go for information.

After all, the work can apparently be fun, and there are many cocktail serving at any time.

Visitors at the Door

On yet another quiet day with nothing to write about (750th post, was going to try and make something of that, but who’d care other than me) I turned again to my spam queue to see if anyone there might simply be, not a spammer, but merely a sad misunderstood soul. In among the dross I found these two comments:

One is from Burger King Menu, who to be quite honest deserves a post all to himself, which he may well get tomorrow if something more interesting does not happen in my life. BKM says:

“Thanks for taking the time to discuss this, I feel strongly about it and love learning more on this topic. If possible, as you gain expertise, would you mind updating your blog with more information? It is extremely helpful for me.”

While Bob Khakshooy wrote:

“You completed various good points there. I did a search on the subject and found the majority of persons will have the same opinion with your blog.”

Bob kindly provided a link from his name, which takes you to the website of the State Bar of California, which lists him as an attorney registered to practice there. I can only hope he attorns better than he writes English.

The thing that attracted my attention to both of them is the post on which they both commented. It was the “About Tinman18” tab on the front page of the blog. I did not expect such adulation simply for explaining a bit about who I am, where I live and things like that.

I am glad that BKM feels strongly about who I am, and would like, sorry, love to learn more about this topic. Since the topic is me, I can only applaud his taste. He is a philosopher, in that he believes that I am on a continuous voyage of self-discovery, as we all are (he may in time discover salad) and hopes that as I gain expertise, presumably at being me, I will update my blog with more information, perhaps about my shoe size, or the colour of my eyes, or whether I ever feel the urge to wear a hat.

It is extremely helpful for him, though I have to admit that I can’t see why.

I am proud of the fact that Bob, who as an attorney is a man of formidable intellect, feels that by just giving my age and where I come from I completed various good points. I feel like a child who has just been given a gold star on his homework.

I have read the story of the prince who dreamt he was a butterfly, and who when he awoke could not be sure that he was not in fact a butterfly dreaming he was a prince (the third possibility, that he was a hedgehog dreaming that he was both, does not seem to have occurred to him).

Bob’s kindness in doing a search on the subject and his finding that the majority of persons have the same opinion with my blog is very re-assuring. It means that most people believe that I am in fact a middle-aged guy from Ireland and not, as I might have feared, a 22-year old girl from Volgograd with even bigger mental problems than I’d thought.

Or a hedgehog.